


Folders

by thenotsopolitecanadian



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anorexia, Attempted Suicide (past), Cutting (past), M/M, Photography, Rape victims (past), designer!louis, freakouts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-28
Updated: 2014-03-28
Packaged: 2018-01-17 09:03:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1381702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenotsopolitecanadian/pseuds/thenotsopolitecanadian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“The last- image, I saw, was a girl like me. She didn’t hide her face at all, everyone who sees her will know...she wanted to be pretty and loved.” Harry looks at him for a second and pulls him close. </p>
<p>“You are, you know you are. She is too, I’ll bet, especially if she’s brave enough to do that. She has someone worth being brave for.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Folders

**Author's Note:**

> This work was inspired by Fading (go check it out, it's amazing) and I may turn it into a series or chaptered fic. Speaking Out is an actually photography series (though the title was different)

The door is opened by a little pixie with black hair who hugs them both, before Louis can react, and even though she must feel the soft spots she doesn’t say anything. She kisses Harry’s cheeks (pulling him down and standing on her tip toes to do so, as she’s even shorter than Louis is) and steps back. Only then does he notice the streaks of blue and pink adorning the ends of her raven hair, the purple and silver streaks framing her narrow, angular fey-like face. She is clearly not a natural black, her skin almost as white as paper, but it suits her instead of making her look sickly and makes her vamp-red lips stand out. Her eyes are a vivid violet that MUST be fake and her ears are pierced all the way to her skull, the earrings at the bottom dangling feathers that drop so low they brush her collarbones. 

 

She wears a well-fitting, well-cut black dress with a wide collar that bares pale shoulders and tan bra straps, a silver pendant with a ring attached, and gold leggings that shimmer when she moves. Ankle boots with a two-inch heel and heavy silver bangles alongside a woven bracelet complete the outfit, and while it’s eclectic and strange and looks like it shouldn’t work it does and she wears it well. The fey-girl smiles brightly at them. “Thank you both so much,” she says and her voice is sexy- smoky and low for a woman. Louis doesn’t smell smoke, only vanilla and chemicals and ink when she hugs him again, so he assumes it’s natural. “Thank you for doing this, I know how hard it must be.” If he thinks about that he’ll lose his nerve (Harry’s big hand on his spine is pretty much the only thing keeping him going now) so he slips out of her embrace. 

 

“Let’s just do it, please.” His voice is weak and tired like it so often is these days, and Harry grabs his hand to squeeze it as they move inside the fairly large flat. 

 

It’s obvious what the girl does the minute you step inside; prints line the walls, candids and nature shots and glamour ones too, in balck and white, in color and all sorts of filters and processes Louis only knows from Instagram. These, however, are clearly not just technology, and he’s impressed with her skill. Louis is stopped in front of a print of a town tucked into a hillside bursting with fall, a riot of colors in the trees, when she comes to stand beside him. “Home,” she says, and it’s soft, almost sad. 

 

“Pardon?” She has a nostalgic smile on her face as she nods towards the picture, hands tucked behind her back. 

 

“That’s the most recent photo I have of my hometown. There’s an older winter one here somewhere.” Fey-girl starts to look, but he stops her with a hand on her thin arm. 

 

“Later,” he begs, “Can we do this please?” He tries to keep the panic out of his voice, and she nods, reading his silent plea. 

 

“Come.” She leads Louis through a living room and a narrow hallway into what was probably at one point a spare bedroom, the space now turned into a studio. Lights and a white screen fill one wall across from a giant window with a desk pushed against it, folders everywhere. There’s a filing cabinet stuffed to bursting and shelves holding bound books and cameras and camera accessories, and a tea-stained cup on the floor. “I apologize for the mess,” fey-girl says sheepishly. “We’ve hit crunch time.” Louis understands well the pressure before a show and tries to smile at her. 

 

“Don’t worry about it. My studio is always chaotic right before a show too, I’m a fashion student.” He adds the last bit in haste, but fey girl just smiles. 

 

“I know, and you’re a fairly brilliant one at that.” He sits on the dark chair in front of the white screen as she messes with her folders, a piece of white paper, and her camera. She looks up. “I’m the photographer for the shows,” she explains at his baffled face, but though he wracks his brain he can’t recall her. She smiles again when he tells her so, unoffended. “Don’t worry about it, it’s not surprising you wouldn’t have seen me. I’m out front taking advantage of the buffet and you designers are always behind the curtain working whatever magic you do.” Still, he should at least recall her name. Fey-girl stands. “So, how much has Harry told you about what I’m doing?” She drags another chair out and sits on it backwards, resting her pointed chin on folded arms. It’s not professional at all, but maybe photographers are different. 

 

“Not very much, really. Just that you’re capturing...imperfections?” he forces himself to say the word, because his problems are so much bigger than that, and she smiles gently at him. 

 

“Everyone has flaws, but that’s the basic idea, yes.” She pulls out a folder and hands it to him, but Louis doesn’t open it just yet. “It’s part of a series. The first was ‘I Must Be’- I had people tell me what people automatically assumed about them, that may or may not be true, like ‘I like metal, so I must be depressed’, stuff like that. I went for hurtful, but it could be positive as well.”

 

Louis opens the folder to a picture of a tall, slender girl with mousy brown hair. She wears glasses, jeans and a tshirt, and her sign says “I AM QUIET SO I MUST HAVE NOTHING TO SAY.” She looks directly into the camera with her chin up, almost as if defying the world. The next is a small, pretty girl with blonde hair and big blue eyes, wearing a skirt and cardigan. She carries “I’M AFFECTIONATE, SO I MUST BE A SLUT.” Louis closes the folder, thinking of a few of his own. 

 

“This one is finished?” 

 

“Yes. I’m showing them all together.” It’s not the way fashion students do things, but he’s in her world now. She hands him another folder labeled ‘Speaking Out’ in black, flowy printing. “This one was probably the hardest to do. Open it and see if you can figure out what it’s about.” These images are black and white, the first picture without a head. The skin, however, is dark and the clothes loose and comfortable. The feathery edges of curls fall within the frame, and there is a white scar on the woman (at least he assumes it’s a woman)’s wrist. “ _How could you let this happen?_ ” It’s written in small, neat handwriting. The next is also headless, a muscular boy in a white collared shirt and jeans. “ _I don’t know why you’re complaining about getting laid._ ” Louis closes the folder. 

 

“They- are they rape victims?” Again, the words burn in his throat and he wants to know where Harry is because he needs his presence. The photographer nods slowly and sadly. 

 

“Yes. The placards are what society and their friends and family told them when they spoke up. I couldn’t stop crying.” Louis doesn’t need to see these, he knows more than enough about the people who should be supporting you doing the opposite and quickly hands the folder back. “There’s one more, then the one you’ll be part of. Are you alright? You don’t have to look if you don’t want to.” Fey-girl’s voie has gone concerned and Louis realizes he is tense and rigid, fingernails digging into his palms. He forces himself to relax. 

 

“I’m fine.” It doesn’t sound convincing even to him, and she clearly doesn’t buy it. 

 

“I’ll call Harry,” she says, going for the phone, but he grabs at her. 

 

“DON’T!” She looks at him and he takes a deep breath to calm himself down before speaking again. “I can do this, I promise.” Those strange violet eyes watch him like a hawk as she slips the phone away, but there’s no pity or judegment in them. He’s sure the purple is contacts now, no one is that blank and emotionless. 

 

“Alright. The last two will cut deep though, they cut me and I took them.” He should laugh but neither does. The folder is labelled ‘Some wounds don’t heal’. Louis opens it to a tall, dark-haired girl with a sad face, well-cut clothes and a proud bearing. She glares at the camera as if it has personally wronged her, as if daring the viewer to say something, holding a white sign with letters in big, bold capitals. It’s black and white, but that makes it even more powerful. “WORTHLESS WHORE” He flips the page to another girl, this one small and pretty with an open, honest face and a slightly crooked tooth. Her hair is a mass of crazy curls around her face and she wears cute clothes. “STUPID BITCH” The third is a guy, tall and skinny, wearing glasses and with dark, flat hair gelled sharply back and a bad complexion. He seems afraid to look at the camera, and is hiding in his clothes- Louis knows the feeling. “NOT WORTH THE CLOTHES ON YOUR BACK” He feels eyes on him and looks up, seeing the photographer’s concerned gaze checking if he’s alright. Louis didn’t realize he was crying until she wipes the tears away with her tiny hands. 

 

“All of it...they’ve all heard those things?” She nods again.

 

“I had them write the most hurtful thing anyone has ever said to them, or things they’d heard the most, words they’d never forgotten, wounds that never healed. Some had a single word, some a phrase, but they’re all still bleeding from them, from wounds that never really heal.” Louis says it with her, touching the edge of the print. SHE comes to mind, HER words, and yes, he could fit on this list. He’s not here for that, though, and he doesn’t want to waste the photographer’s time with his bullshit. He flips through the folder, seeing boys and girls of all shapes and colors and sizes, some looking confidently or challengingly, some looking away or clearly forcing themselves to look into the camera. They all hold signs- SLUT. USELESS. UNLOVABLE. BROKEN. FAT COW. He sees FAG and QUEER and they’re like knives to his gut, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t break, just hands the folder back and tries to breathe. The photographer is still looking at him. “Are you sure you’re alright?” Her voice is soft but he shakes his head and rubs his face. 

 

“I’m fine. How do you want me.” 

 

“You clearly know what the last one is.” 

 

“Imperfections.” 

 

“Actually, confessions, all the things they don’t want the world to know. You’re not the only anorexic.” He wants to protest the word, but he knows there’s no point. “I didn’t want anyone to be alone because you never are, never. There’s always someone.” She must be as naive as Harry if she thinks that, but he doesn’t call her on it. “I had the other two tastefully naked.” There’s no such thing.

 

Louis freezes. No no no no NO he can’t show her, can’t let this stranger see how ugly he is, how fat and repulsive. Even worse, she’s going to publish this and then everyone will know and see and nope, nope, nope, this is not a good idea at ALL. He doesn’t notice she’s calling Harry until she’s at his side, folding him into her arms even though she doesn’t know him. Her hands rub his back and hair tickles his cheek, and for some reason he melts into the hold. Her low, raspy voice is in his hair. “Ssh, ssh, ssh, it’s okay, ssh. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, ssh.” He doesn’t know how she knows to do so, but she surrounds and covers him with her body and it helps. 

 

“Call- call Harry,” he gasps, feeling like there’s a vise around his chest crushing his ribs.

 

“I already did. Hush, love, hush, you’re alright, he’s coming, hush hush. That’s it, you’re alright.” Louis is shaking but she doesn’t let go, just keeps rubbing his back and whispering into his ear until Harry takes her place. 

 

“Hey, Lou.” Harry’s voice is fighting to be calm and Lou hides his face in Haz’s hoodie. 

 

“Haz, I can’t, I’m sorry, I can’t.” He realizes he’s babbling but really doesn’t care at this point. 

 

“Hush, you don’t have to, it’s alright. I’m sorry for bringing you here, hush. You don’t have to.” A cup of tea is placed by Louis’ side.

 

“I’m shit at this, but I’ve learned over the last couple of weeks that hot beverages always help,” the photographer says quietly. “It’s black but there’s cream and sugar there. I’m so sorry, harry, I had no idea he’d react like this. I’m so sorry.” Harry cuts her off from saying more. 

 

“It’s not your fault, Sydney, I didn’t either. Thank you for the tea.” 

 

“There’s a cup for you too. I’ll be outside if you need me.” Sydney- so that was her name- slips out of the room and shuts the door behind her. Hary brings him to the floor and makes the tea before holding it to Louis’ lips. 

 

“Drink.” 

 

“I can do this myself,” Louis protests, but he’s not entirely sure of that with the way his hands are shaking. He takes the sip anyway and it’s hot and good if a little spicy, the tea a different blend than what he’s used to. “What is that?”

 

“Chai, Sydney doesn’t drink anything else. Sorry, Lou.”

 

“Don’t worry, I like it.” He actually does, and Harry smiles uncertainly. They drink in silence for a while, and it looks like Sydney’s theory is turning out to be right. “I can’t do this,” Louis says finally. 

 

“Then you don’t have to, love.”

 

“I can’t be naked in front of her, I can’t let the world see all this.” He gestures weakly at himself. I can’t, Haz.” 

 

“You don’t have to. If you don’t want to at all, that’s fine, but if you do you can wear clothes.” Harry’s voice is slow and soft and soothing. With clothes on...he could try with clothes on. They world will still know it’s him...nope, never mind. 

 

“They’ll still know it’s me. Who else is this hideous?” He laughs a watery laugh and Harry’s eyes get that look they always do when Louis talks like this.

 

“Don’t say that, you’re beautiful.” He kisses Louis softly. “I cannot wait for the day you believe that,” he says softly, and Louis just shakes his head. He’s repulsive and he knows it and honestly has no idea why Harry is still here. “As for the recognition thing...not necessarily.” Louis’ head snaps up.

 

“What?”

 

“Have you seen the other work?” Louis thinks back to the two faceless rape victims. 

 

“Yeah. They had no faces.”

 

“They don’t have faces unless they want to. Sydney lets them choose, and if they don’t want to be identified she crops the head out and removes distinguishing marks.” Louis starts to consider. If no one knows who he is...he could do that, maybe. He could even try it sans clothes. Maybe not that last part. 

 

“I- I’ll try.” Harry looks at him.

 

“Are you sure? You don’t  have to, Lou, not at all.”

 

“I know,” Louis cuts him off. “I want to. I said I’ll TRY, if it gets too bad then I’ll stop. You have to stay though.” He can handle being naked if he can pretend it’s just Haz. He’s praying Sydney will be like the designers he knows, completely impersonal with the bodies and not talking too much. Harry’s face is showing open joy and relief and maybe even pride; Louis isn’t going to lie, it stings a little. The gangly boy he doesn’t want to leave stands. 

 

“Syd, come back here,” he calls. There’s a few minutes- maybe she didn’t eavesdrop after all, that would make her a rare one- before the door slowly, carefully opens. Sydney pokes her crazy-colored head in.

 

“Yes?”

 

“He’ll do it.” A slow, careful smile spreads across her features. She comes into the room a little more, and Louis wants to tell her not to be ridiculous in her own home. 

 

“Really? I don’t want him to freak again.” Her tone says it’s concern for Louis, not herself or her stuff, that prompt the words and he’s confused again. Why does this stranger care?

 

“I won’t, not if Haz is here.” He shoots his boyfriend a look and intwines their fingers. Sydney shrugs.

 

“Go for it, but he can’t be in the shot.” That doesn’t matter, he wants to able to see him anyways. Louis nods.

 

“Haz, stand behind the camera.” Harry moves so Louis can stare at him while appearing to look at the lense. “I don’t want to be recognized,” he says slowly, and Sydney shrugs again. 

 

“Done.” She adjusts the camera slighlty and hands him a placard and pen. “You don’t have to be naked, but you do need to write your confession. You can be as detailed as you like, it’s accordion folded.” He blanches but takes the pen. Writing, he can do wriitng. Writing is easy. Breathing deep, he puts his pen to the paper, feeling the edges of the book the photographer had placed underneath it digging into his thighs. The words come suddenly, and so easily he has to fight to hold them back and make it brief and legible as his story spills out onto the page, the words flowing out of him in a long stream. By the time he’s finished he’s taken two folds up with writing and there are tears on the paper. “Stand up, please, and hold the placard in front of your chest.” Yup, she’s done what he does and gone completely professional. She moves him around until she’s satisfied. 

 

“Hold still, chin up.” Louis meets Haz’s eyes even if he has to fight a squint when the lights come on. He hears the click of a shutter. “Okay, you’re done.”

 

“Thank God.” He moves out of the light, momentarily blinded. “Only one shot?” Sydney’s busy flicking through the camera and doesn’t answer for a moment.

 

“If it’s a good one, yeah, I don’t want to make them go through that more times then they have to. This one is, look.” He comes over and sees his small hands holding up the placard, words perfectly legible. It covers nearly his entire torso, which just shows how short he is, and he wants to tell her to choose another but he knows nothing will make him look good. He nods; the picture is clear, if nothing else. 

 

“Can I- can I see the others?” She looks at him in surprise, along with Harry. 

 

“Do you want to?” 

 

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t,” Louis points out. Sydney nods, slowly, then looks at Harry for confirmation.

 

“Very well.” She presses a button on the camera so he sees a punk boy, hair spiked and face pierced and wearing dark clothes and what looks like eyeliner. His shirt is open low and shows his neck...a neck that has a ring of scars from bruises that can only be from a rope. “ _I tried to hang myself,”_ Louis reads it aloud. Sydney flips to the next picture, a girl drowning in a too-big tshirt. She has straight, plain-looking ginger hair, an average, shy face and lines of scars up her arms. The hem of the shirt is pulled up and secured so Louis can see more marks on her stomach. “ _I cut myself just to feel something.”_ Behind him, harry makes a choked noise in his throat and name quickly moves on to another boy. 

 

This one is skinny, wearing a ratty hoodie and jeans that need to be washed and mended, sores on his face. He looks ready to jump out of his skin and there are deep marks on his arms that look like they come from nails. _“I started taking crack for a good time, and now it’s taken everything away.”_ The next picture is another attempted suicide, a pretty blonde girl with her hair in a ponytail and wearing fashionable glasses. _“I took pills because I couldn’t handle the pressure anymore.”_ Another boy, this one a drinker, _“to forget.”_ A girl, another cutter. A boy, who burns himself. Then, the picture that snaps Louis’ control. 

 

It’s a girl, but she is tiny and skin and bones. She even has a hint of fur growing, she’s far too pale, and the shadows under her eyes look more like bruises. Her placard covers her breasts and cloth her sex, but it’s still clear what she does and she must be freezing. _“I don’t eat, because maybe if I’m skinny enough someone will love me.”_ Her hair is limp and flat, the brown dull. 

 

“Stop.” The word is forced out and right away, the picture clicks back to the burned boy. Louis sinks to the floor, curling into a ball, and Harry is immediately there with him. He feels tentative hands with long nails at his back and realizes the photographer is there too. 

 

“I’m sorry,” she says again, and this time Harry doesn’t contradict her. “I’m so, so sorry.” 

 

The thing is, Louis isn’t panicking. Well, he is, but not like before. It’s not fear, it’s an epiphany. That girl...he doesn’t even know that girl’s name, but he knows one of her deepest secrets. She’s willing to let the world know something like this about her, and that makes her brave, far braver than he could ever be. He wishes he were that brave, then maybe he’d be worthy of Harry. He’s not, he’s just a coward, a coward who can’t even show his face. He’s a cowad for hiding and he hates it, even more than he usually hates himself. What the fuck, he’s already hideous, might as well be honest. He stands, and both Harry and Sydney are looking at him like he might bolt or shatter into a million pieces or he’s a dog that might attack them. 

 

“Louis...are you...” Harry reaches out a hand and Louis takes it, because he needs an anchor. He faces name and takes a deep breath. 

 

“I’ll do it.” She clearly doesn’t understand. 

 

“Take another photo. I’ll let them see...” he swallows and he can’t say the word yet. “I still don’t want a head though.”

 

“Done. Are you sure, love?” 

 

“Stop asking me that.” He goes to the white screen, starts stripping and tossing the clothes to the side as Sydney messes with her camera. Harry takes the clothes, eyeing him like Louis has lost his mind. Maybe he has. He keeps his boxers on, because he’s not that brave, and grabs the placard. Sydney directs him so the world can see the words but also LOUIS, and before he can panic she takes a photo, then another, then another. 

 

“You’re done.” She flicks off the lights and Harry is at his side in a flash, catching him as he sinks to the ground and whispering how happy and proud he is. Sydney throws a blanket over them and gives them the neatly folded clothes before slipping out of the room again and leaving them alone. 

 

“Oh God, Haz...I did it. They’re going to be everywhere.” He can’t really believe what he’s just done, and Harry squeezes him tighter and kisses his hiar. 

 

“They’ll  be black and white and have no face, no one will know it’s you.” 

 

“That girl...they’ll know her. How is she so brave?” He can’t believe he’s crying again because REALLY. 

 

“What girl?” He realizes Harry didn’t see the photo. 

 

“The last- image, I saw, was a girl like me. She didn’t hide her face at all, everyone who sees her will know...she wanted to be pretty and loved.” Harry looks at him for a second and pulls him close. 

 

“You are, you know you are. She is too, I’ll bet, especially if she’s brave enough to do that. She has someone worth being brave for.” Harry knows that’s the only reason Louis is here. “I’m proud of you.” Louis scoffs, trying to make light. 

 

“It’s jsut a picture, Haz, you can’t even see my face.” 

 

“Still, it wasn’t easy.” No, it wasn’t. “Maybe you should send Syd the other picture.” Louis shoots his head up and it’s kind of sad Harry doesn’t need to explain.  

 

“No.” The curly-haired lad puts his hands up. 

 

“Alright, you don’t have to, it was just an idea.” That is not ever going to happen, no way in hell. “Come on, let’s get you dressed.” Louis pulls on his clothes, Harry folds the blanket, and they step outside to where Sydney is sitting on the couch. She has a picture in her hands and hides it as they approach, standing to meet them, and if Louis notices a slight wetness at the edge of her eyes he doesn’t say anything. She notices Harry’s arm around Louis’ waist and smiles slightly .

 

“I meant it when I said thank you. That can’t have been easy.” She hugs them both again, tightly. “I’m presenting the 6th of June if you want to see them, but there’s also a small party before that for the people in the pictures. June 1st if you want to come.” Yeah, no, but Harry is already agreeing polietly, saying they’ll see. Sydney nods. “See you at the show in May, Louis.” He looks at her. “I’m the photographer for the fashion department, remember?” Oh. Yeah. Louis smiles at her. 

 

“I’ll see you. Hopefully you’ll like it.” The girl smiles again. 

 

“I will. I meant it when I said you’re birlliant.” She doesn’t seem the kind to lie and he believes her even though he never really believes anyone. She kisses Harry again, whispers something in his ear, and lets them go. Harry refuses to tell him what she said, and they spend the night on the couch watching movies and eating excruciatingly slowly. 

**Author's Note:**

> This...was a lot sadder than I thought it would be. Louis isn't actually a coward, that's just the anorexia talking.


End file.
